On the Precipice of Nothingness
by valkyriechan
Summary: Sam and Dean get a lead on the Alpha Werewolf. They are to track him down and hand him over to Crowley. Castiel is engaged in the war in heaven. Set in the later half of the Sixth Season. Possible Dean/Castiel.


Note: Hello, folks! I'm new to FF :) This is an attempt at a canon-esque story. For some reason, I prefer stories that resemble canon. There will be indications of Dean/Castiel. It is a two or three chapter story. Hope you like it!

It was a cool, pleasant morning to drive on the highway. A vast expanse of thorny scrub and dry grass filled the terrain. The flat plains made the earth seem infinite. An old Ramones song was buzzing and crackling in the Impala. Dean had to change the station as they were going out of range. Fall was ending and mist clouded their path as Sam and Dean set off on their new lead on the Alpha Werewolf. They had been on the road to Rock Springs, WY for 3 hours now and were nearing the interstate border. It wasn't a long drive from Castle Rock.

They had just completed a mission involving a pagan Norse god, Snotra, who had gone rogue. Dean decided she was a wise bitch indeed, but they had seen worse. He was glad that it was over and a part of him was grateful for a mission reminiscent of his and his brother's good old days. Sam had just got his soul back and Dean couldn't be happier to see Sam up and moving unlike how Cass and Bobby had predicted him to be: a drooling mess. Nothing was going to ruin what they had now, not even Crowley's cockamamie plan to haul the Winchesters into open-the-gate-to-Purgatory scheme. He had to protect that wall in Sam's soul at any cost.

The werewolf at Rock Springs was killing too many people and the count had reached half a dozen all too soon. It was possible that more than one was involved. A while after arriving at a skeevy motel, they dressed up in their monkey suits and got to work. The last victim's wife had to be questioned and the cadaver had to be checked for a missing heart.

"Sam, you go over the corpse and I'll check out the girl. We don't have long."

"Dammit Dean, you can't always make me do the dirty work!" Sam whined.

Dean was grinning. "Suck it up, man."

The wife was a petite lady in her early thirties, with dark hair falling over her pale face. Dean inquired her with detached empathy and expressed his condolences. His thoughts began to drift. If it were a lighter situation, he might have hit on her. He learned that the victim, Greg Vargas, worked at a steel mill on the outskirts of the city.  
They met up at Village Inn. Sam was chowing down his salad. Dean was munching his usual bacon cheeseburger.

"Dean, we've got to catch this abomination ASAP—it ripped this guy like a dog with a ragdoll," Sam thought for a moment. "Oh wait, that's what he is. And of course, the vic's heart was missing." Sam was looking over his laptop. He had the articles on the killings open in several windows.

"Yeah, we'll check out the mill tonight," Dean mumbled absently with his mouth full. "Dude, I really don't get how you eat rabbit food."

"Come on, I thought we were over that."

Since they did not have any other leads, they decided to check the mill. Two of the victims had been employees there. There was minimal security and they breached it with practiced expertise. Brandishing their silver blades, Sam and Dean swept the vicinity of the furnace. After a while, Dean began to lose patience. Sam scowled at Dean indignantly.

"Dean. Focus."

Dean flashed the light in Sam's face. "Very mature," Sam said, irritatedly.

"You should see your face," Dean mocked, chuckling.

They reached the back gate and were sprinting towards the Impala, when they heard a soft, distinct rustle of leaves. Both of them froze. There was something in the bushes. Dean gestured with his hand for Sam to cover the right of the grove. Dean stepped towards the left.

_Rustle. _Dean snapped his head behind him and saw a flash of humanoid on all fours. Dean thought to himself, _you slow mutt, I wish I could just gank you._ _Fuck Crowley and his intel gathering._

Sam's eyes met Dean and Dean gestured Sam to take point. Sam managed a tense, yet pleading expression. Dean knitted his brows and mouthed _Go_. The werewolf was certainly dense, showing itself in such an obvious place. Dean slid behind the bushes and watched Sam treading cautiously. It was Sam's turn to be the decoy this time. Sam's boots crushed dry leaves as he walked. He twirled around each time he heard a noise. The adrenaline flowing in Dean's veins increased his heart rate and he was covered in a thin sheet of sweat. Within a flash, the thing sprang out of the bushes and grabbed Sam by the leg. He raised his elbow in defence and thrashed his feet. At the same time, Dean leapt out of his cover and gashed the wolf in an instant. The poison was spreading fast and the wolf slowed in pain. Sam was panting hard. He was lying on his back and moved backwards. Dean lunged and delivered another non-fatal wound to the abdomen. The lycan howled in pain. They bagged the creature and later confined it to a steel pole with wrought iron chains. The creature had turned back to its human form, which appeared to be a rather athletic teenager. He was seething with pain and growling. He directed his eyes at Dean.

"I've heard about you filthy hunters," he spat "I ain't telling nothin'. Stab me with that toy if ya like."

"That's for me to decide, smartass," Dean said, walking in circles around him.

Sam said, "So where's your maker? We know he's in town. The sooner you tell, the more painless your end."

"Yeah, how about that?" Dean asked, offering a consolation.

"Screw you, scumbags," the wolf said, defiantly. "My Father and my kin will avenge me."

"Let them try. Noobs like you can't hold out for long," Dean observed, and rammed the knife into his liver.

He screamed in agony. The mill was desolate, so nobody heard his cries. His wails echoed the high ceilings of the plant. There was no backing out of this. It had to be done. Their lives were on the line. The torture methods were disconcerting Dean. It was becoming all too familiar. It reminded him of the years he spent flaying and carving those poor souls. He even brushed aside the fact that he had been on the receiving end for thirty years. Regrets never helped the psyche. But then he had been _the_ righteous man. He would do anything to break this torture ritual. If only there was some other way. He was becoming the same brand of evil that he hunted. After thirty minutes of traumatic, bloody torment, the boy gave up. Sam delivered the coup de grace. They had finally acquired the location of the alpha.

At the motel, Dean was visibly perturbed. He stripped down to his undershirt and shorts, in a laboured manner. He sat at the edge of the bed, contemplating. His mind wandered from his father, to Hell, to Alistair, and then to the holy white light that raised him from perdition. Self-loathing was eating into his soul. _Cass, look what I've become. Did you get me out of the pit only to unleash this putrid human to this world?_

Sam looked over his shoulder, concerned. He wasn't able to sleep either. He was fidgeting in his bed. "Dean—Are you okay?" He asked, concerned.

Dean broke from his reverie. He sensed that Sam wanted to "talk" and was tempted to snap at him, but he couldn't when he saw that Sam looked like a wounded puppy. The dim light made it seem dramatic. "I'm fine," he managed. "Can't sleep. That's all."

"Are you sure?"

"Look, Sam—I know you care. Just let it go, alright?"

"Okay."

Dean rebuffing Sam was not news to him but he wanted to help, to understand. It was only time before Dean cracked after leaving Lisa and Ben. Sam knew, even in his soulless state, that the domestic life that Dean had was only a semblance of normalcy. Yet he wished at least his brother could escape this fate—this life on the road. Dean just seemed too tired of it all. Sam had to wonder _How did Dad do it? _He could only imagine. And Cass was another matter altogether. Sam did believe in giving the benefit of doubt, but would just be short-sighted. Dean trusted people too much.

In the morning, Sam and Dean were getting ready to capture the boss. The Alpha seemed to be working Western Wyoming Community College.  
The weather was chilly and Dean was starting to miss the leather jacket. He bent over and was putting on his boots, when a faint, yet distinct sound of wings filled the room. Dean finally looked up, and gasped, wide-eyed.

"Dammit Cass, you startled me!" Dean cried.

"Hello Dean."

"Hey. How's the war in heaven going?" Dean asked, straightening up.

Sam peered from the bathroom door, with a towel to his face.

"Oh, hey Cass," He greeted.

Castiel turned to Sam and smiled at him, almost wearily. He turned to Dean and their eyes met.

"I'm afraid the battle has become a massacre. Raphael is looking for me. He considers me a threat to peace in heaven," He said, dejectedly, with fine lines creasing his forehead.

"Great. So you have an angel gore fest. And we have ourselves a pedagogic purgatory scum to handle. Oh boy, I can't wait!" Dean said, with mock-enthusiasm.

"I heard that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit," Cass commented in his baritone.

Dean scoffed. "What are you doing here anyway?" Dean asked, suddenly curious.

Cass turned to the side and focussed on something on the wall. "Just checking in."  
Dean searched Cass's electric blue eyes for the truth, but didn't say anything.

"Wanna come with us? We could use some help. He's gonna be a tough sonofabitch."

"I can't," Cass said, with some unease. "I have some pressing matters to attend to."

"Alright, alright," Dean said, raising his hands in surrender. "You've gotta do what you've gotta do."

Cass gazed at Dean for a long moment. For how long? Seconds? Minutes? Dean couldn't tell. Finally, he got up to take the car keys. Cass disappeared just as quickly as he appeared. Dean looked at that spot on the ground, feeling a void.

_You lying little sonofabitch. You waltz in and out as you please._ Dean thought. He felt an unaccountable anger towards Cass.  
The brothers set off and slammed the door behind them. Cass sat on Dean's bed, invisible and ashamed, with pursed lips, clutching the hunter's flannel shirt. He sat there, still, for a few minutes, feeling an indescribable serenity. A sudden contact with love and attachment had caught Castiel unawares. It felt new and alien, but certainly not unwelcome. Cass realized that the love he felt for his brethren was entirely different from this, although he wouldn't admit it.

It was just after noon; Sam had disguised himself as the IT Guy and Dean as a college student. _At least now I'm in college,_ Dean thought. _Even if it is a community college._

Sam showed his badge at the office room. The badge said S. Harrison from Tech Solutions.

"Hello, there. I'm Sam. I'm here to repair the server," Sam said, smiling innocently. It was a wonder how a man so big had such a childlike, disarming smile.

"Is that so, young man? I wasn't informed at all," a plump, old man, likely a professor, asked with a quizzical look.

"Mr Dunham said that it was an emergency," Sam explained.

The man was smiling in recognition. "Okay. Go ahead, boy." Sam rushed to the server room.

On the database, Sam did search for a Mr Kinney, the supposed target. Dean had expressed his surprise and disapproval of an immortal creature being an academician. Sam had to agree. "M Kinney" was a professor of Theological Sciences in the Department of Theology and Culture. Sam was also thoroughly baffled. He informed Dean and they planned to rendezvous outside the department's wing.

"Sammy, what the hell? Theology? Really?" Dean said, in disbelief, as soon as he saw Sam. "Give the guy near immortality and insane strength and this is what he does with it." Dean shook his head in pity.

"That's right. Let's go."

"Don't forget that one of his buddies dropped a body yesterday too. And we can't have civvies hurt in the crossfire," Dean said, instinctively touching the hilt of silver knife tucked in the holster on his hips for reassurance.

"Of course. But this definitely is one of our stupidest plans, ever. Who goes after an Alpha moondog with just knives? We are gonna end up tickling him with it," Sam said, gravely.

"Shaddup," Dean muttered.

They walked to Kinney's office, only to find it locked.

"Aw, man. Just when I thought we had lucky streak," Dean said in incredulously.

"You call nearly being mauled to death by a werewolf 'lucky'?" Sam asked, looking towards Dean angrily.

"Nothing we can't handle,"

"Yeah. Right," Sam dismissed.

"How about we split up and search. You look outside."

"Alright."

Dean gave Sam the don't-fuck-up look and Sam gave an affirmative nod. Dean checked the classrooms one by one. Several students walked past him and Dean occasionally flashed an amicable smile. He asked around only to find that he reached a dead end.

He walked into another empty classroom and peered. A suave, curly blond-haired man in a grey sweater was beaming at him. Dean's heart rate rose.

"Hello, Dean Winchester. I've been expecting you," He said, charmingly. "Call me Mark."

"You are-" Dean started. Dean drew his blade swiftly.

"Why, yes I am."

"So you're the douchebag who's responsible for so many deaths," Dean said. "And I have to ask, what's with the religious crap?"

Mark stiffened. "Yes. And it's a study of religion, you pretty little simpleton. You humans fascinate me. You are such weak, impure creatures with such grand ideas. You like to hope and believe that you can be saved. As for me, I give life to the fortunate ones and treat the others as they should be treated—prey."

"You know what, you talk a lot. A lot of bullshit. Save the sermon." Dean didn't budge from the doorway.

"I overestimated your intelligence," Mark said, with an impish grin. "But you do seem to be a fine specimen. I just might make you one of ours."

Dean trod, inch by inch, towards the lycan, without breaking eye-contact. His phone buzzed in his jacket pocket and stopped. Even his hunter instinct couldn't have predicted the next move. Dean only heard a growl and saw a haze of movement. Before the sound could reach his ear, his arms were pinned to the wall by a menacing, clawed, fanged form of Mark. The knife dropped with a _clang_. The wolf's wide pupils were inches from the hunter's face. Dean thrashed and kicked with no effect. Suddenly, a loud siren filled the room, alarming Dean further. Someone had set off the fire alarm. The wailing was like a pervading, torturous physical presence.

To be continued...


End file.
